


Broken Pieces

by relic_amaranth



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bakery and Coffee Shop, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Gender-neutral Reader, M/M, Multi, Other, Reader-Insert, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-03 16:53:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19468150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/relic_amaranth/pseuds/relic_amaranth
Summary: Being broken once doesn’t mean you stay broken forever. Sometimes you just need to find another way to fix yourself.





	Broken Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Fluff, saaaaaaap, Reader meets Bucky as ‘James’ so that’s what they call him throughout the fic
> 
> Prompt: “You don’t have to fix me.” // “No one is trying to fix you.” for @barnesrogersvstheworld Challenge Challenge on Tumblr
> 
> A/N: Written for a lovely writer’s lovely challenge. The prompt is in there, I swear, it just sort of ended up that I got an immediate feel for the scene it came in and then decided to write about 7k words leading up to it. Oy vey. Sorry for the length, but I do like this one. When I do Steve/Bucky/Reader I tend to go with Steve and Bucky being established and bringing the Reader in, (naturally), so I wanted to try something a little different and have Reader be part of the couple before they become a throuple and so this happened. Anyway, please enjoy.

There’s a man sitting outside your shop.

He’s hunched over, and with the sky still dark in the early morning hours he gives you pause. You’re not sure if he’s waiting for you to open or if this was just the best place he could find to sleep…or if there’s another reason. You walk closer, but he doesn’t budge, and he’s just far enough away from the door that you square up and go for it. He doesn’t so much as look up when you unlock the door, and even when you’re inside locking it back up again he doesn’t seem to have shifted at all. Poor guy. Maybe you’ll take a cup out to him later.

You get caught up in working to make sure you’re ready for the day and forget about him while you put out supplies, start the coffee, and set up the tables. When it’s time to open, Lin, your baker, opens the door on her way out and not seconds later does the bell chime with the first entry. You come up from under the counter and face a man who…looks somewhat familiar. But you don’t have time to place him right now; even working in a coffee shop it’s rare for you to find someone up before the sun because they’re enjoying a slow morning.

“Good morning,” you say. “What can I get for you?”

His brow is furrowed and messy dark hair hangs partly over his eyes, but he scans the display case. His face doesn’t change when he looks back at you. “Just coffee,” he says. Then, quietly: “Please.”

“All right, that’ll be–” When he holds out the money you take it and count out the pile of change. Perfect, down to the last taxed cent. “Any room for cream?”

“No.” Then: “Thank you.”

You smile to yourself and get the man his coffee. When he takes it and sits down, you think you have a second to go check for that other man from earlier. You fill up a small cup, grab a broken muffin, and go outside. Unfortunately, the sidewalk is empty. When you go back inside though, you see your customer, hunched over his table and– ah, so _that’s_ why he’s familiar.

You roll your eyes and make a mental note to take this cup for yourself, since you obviously need it. But though you place the cup on the counter, you take the muffin over to the man, who snaps his eyes up when you set it down. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” you say by way of apology. “Are you hungry? This one came out a little mangled, but I don’t want to waste it.”

His shoulders ease down a millimeter and he stares at the muffin for several seconds before he takes it. “Thank…you.”

“Don’t mention it,” you say, and leave him in peace.

He starts showing up every day, at the same time. After the first week you start asking him if he’d like to come in when you do. Nothing is set up but it’s better than sitting on the cold ground. He shakes his head and waits, and the same routine occurs. You open up, he orders a single coffee he does nothing to doctor, and you give him a pastry that didn’t come out quite right. When Lin catches a glance at him on her way out one morning, though, those ‘misshapen’ pastries become a little…

“Lin,” you say and wait for her to look at you. You hold up the _heart-shaped_ croissant and she casts her eyes down in guilt. “I can start charging extra for these if you want to keep making them. Otherwise…”

“Has he– has he mentioned them?” she asks.

“He, uh…did a double-take?” you say, because he had certainly given _you_ a weird look yesterday when you had handed it to him without even glancing at it. Lin looks mildly pleased, until she sees your face. Then she ducks her head.

“You’ve seen him!” she says.

And, yes, you can understand that. However. “Lin.”

“Okay, fine,” she grumbles.

“Maybe just ask him out?” you suggest gently. “Because it’s definitely a mixed message if _I’m_ the one handing it to him.”

“Okay,” she says but the way she looks askance is–

You groan. “Who put you up to this?”

“I’m no snitch,” she says and slings her bag over her shoulder. “Anyway, I’m, um, late. Bye!”

You don’t even get to ask her what the hell she’s late _for_ at (you check the clock) six in the morning, but unless she quits overnight you’ll be able to subject her to scrutiny tomorrow. As it is you treat your other employees to that gaze and while a couple of them are innocently confused, a notable suspect cracks almost immediately.

“Lin said he looks nice!” Melissa says.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say. “Thank you for your concern. I’m _fine_.”

She frowns, because she does know better than to just believe you. She’s worked here the longest, and she can be too headstrong for her own good sometimes. You have a chart in the back for ‘x days without a customer altercation’ just for her. Thankfully, today, she backs down.

“She also said he’s really, really cute.”

You sigh heavily. You’re going to have to make a chart of your own: ‘x days without wanting to fire all of my employees.’

“So is he?”

At this rate it’s going to be ‘0’ for a long time.

“Good morning,” you greet your new doorstop. He doesn’t respond, as per usual, but you flash him a smile as you unlock the door. “Would you like to come in with me?”

At this point you just wait for his response as a courtesy; it’s always a quiet, “no thank you.” However today he lifts his head and watches you. “Could I…help?”

You freeze with the door halfway open. “You’d like to help me open?”

He inclines his head. “If it’s okay.”

“Of course. If you want,” you say. There’s an awkward pause so you smile and add, “There’s a non-malformed pastry and extra large coffee in it for you if you do a good job.”

He smiles. It’s a small thing but it’s the first real relaxed expression you’ve seen on him. Lin was right– he’s beautiful. He gestures for you to walk in. “After you. Boss.”

You laugh but show him in. While you set up behind the counter you have “Bu– Sol– …just…call me James” take down the chairs and make sure the tables look nice. By the time you have the displays and coffee ready, James has buffed the tables to a near shine, the chairs are placed perfectly around each one, and even the napkins and cream containers are set up. All that and you still have ten minutes before opening.

“Wow, I think I even have time to have breakfast this morning,” you say and, hey, that’s a thought. “All right James; what would you like?”

“Same thing,” he says shyly. “Please.”

You grab the best looking croissant and fill the largest coffee cup you have with his preferred blend. After a moment you grab yourself a drink and make a breakfast sandwich (maybe you’ll entice him by the smell) and go to the table he has, as always, chosen. “For you,” you say and put his food in front of him. “Do you mind if I join you?”

Already a bite in, he glances at you, then the seat across, and shakes his head. You sit down, secure in the fact that over in this corner no customer is going to see you and think they can get in early. You breathe a sigh of relief. “Thanks for your help today, James. I never get to enjoy my breakfast anymore,” you say and take a bite.

To your pride, he does look taken by your sandwich. “It’s the least I could do,” he mumbles and scarfs his food down. A big guy like that can’t possibly subsist on coffee and one single croissant, but you don’t press. Even though you want to.

“You don’t have to. Lin is great at what she does, but not everything turns out perfect and I hate to waste things,” you say. “So it’s kind of a favor.”

James snorts. “Her food _is_ perfect.”

“Yesss!”

You look to the side. James doesn’t look too concerned that Lin is hanging out of the back. His eyes barely flick at her and back at his drink, and you wonder if he knew she was there. Not that it matters; you give Lin your best glare and she wilts behind the wall. “I was just coming to say goodbye! Have a nice date! I mean– breakfast! I meant breakfast!” She then hefts her bag onto her shoulder and books it out the back.

You sigh and shake your head. When you look up again, James is staring at you oddly. “I’m really sorry about her,” you say. “She’s a good person but she and some of my co-workers try to set me up. All the time.”

He looks utterly mystified. “Even with some unwashed vagrant who just started showing up?”

You shrug. This has been going on too long for you to feel embarrassed anymore. “You’re not that bad. But…that’s what they think my dating life is. I guess.”

He looks mildly alarmed. “You shouldn’t do that. You don’t know if someone’s safe.”

You smile at the chiding tone. Apparently protectiveness is such an inherent part of him he can’t help but be more expressive now. “True,” you say. “And don’t worry; I’m not exactly…jumping at the chance to be with just anyone. Not being in a relationship is better than being in a bad one.” You leave it at that and so does James, seemingly content to sip his coffee while you finish your breakfast in the peace and quiet of a relaxed early morning.

This becomes your new normal. Eventually James doesn’t even ask anymore; he just follows in behind you and silently sets to work, every single day. You do get him to try the sandwiches, among other things. You also offer him a proper job helping out but he declines. “I’m a free agent,” he says with a ghost-like smile. You’re missing something but you don’t think the joke is yours to get.

On the less positive end (for you), being a fixture means you stop noticing him so much. Especially when it’s an odd time and the shop is empty and you’re dealing with an asshole on the phone who can’t see your nonverbal ‘I’m going to break a coffee cup and shove the pieces down your gullet’ warning signs. You slam down the phone in frustration, lean your elbows on the counter, and start rubbing your temples to prepare for many more headaches to come. It’s not even _seven_ yet; how is this day already going so poorly?

“Headache?”

“People need to fuck off,” you mutter. You hear a broom stop and realize who you just said that to. You don’t know James’s stance on swearing, but you wince and turn anyways. “Sorry,” you say to his startled expression.

He actually cracks a smile. He ducks his head fast and goes back to sweeping, but that oncoming human-induced migraine goes right away, and you think that this morning isn’t going so badly after all.

Melissa and James have met briefly, but he’s never stayed more than ten minutes after she comes on shift. Lin, however, might actually be in love with him.

“Can _I_ let him in in the mornings?”

It’s an innocent question after a few minutes of good-natured bickering while Melissa pretends to ignore the both of you, but you drop your pen. Expenses are boring anyways, but there’s no explanation for why you react to her question with such a…well, you wouldn’t call it a _violent_ start (god, no) but if you had feathers they’d be ruffled. And you have no idea why.

“Uh…” Lin shares an odd look with Melissa, who stops washing dishes. “Sorry; I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No! No,” you say to her, and you tell yourself to get your shit together. “No, it’s fine. In fact you should; he’s fine to come in and there’s…there’s no reason he should…wait outside. For me. It’s fine.”

Her eyebrows go way up. “Uh huh.”

You slump. “I don’t know why I reacted like that,” you say. “I guess I just like seeing him when I come in.”

Again, Lin and Melissa share a look. “Stop it,” you warn them.

“Don’t get so defensive,” Melissa says, lips curling up. “It’s nice to have friends too, you know.”

“Yes, it _is_ good to have friends,” you say. You then pretend you don’t see the _next_ look they share.

You do, however, reset your personal counter to zero.

It’s cold and raining hard enough to fill your ears with the cacophonous sound of water crashing upon pavement. Still, a familiar shadow looms by your door and as soon as you see him you run forward, despite slippery ground and endless puddles. Shit, shit, _shit_ ; you should have told Lin to let him in.

“Come on,” you tell him and unlock the door as fast as you can. You get inside and turn to lock the door behind him, but he doesn’t follow. You toss your umbrella to the side and frantically motion for him to come in.

He looks down at the floor and then to you, squinting when the wind bursts and blows rain sideways. “I’ll get the floor dirty.”

You roll your eyes and– because the rain is starting to come inside– you grab the front of his shirt and yank him towards you. He stumbles but doesn’t fall, and you slam the door shut. You flip the lights on low and James is– “God; you look like you jumped in a lake,” you say. “You’ve got to be freezing.”

“I’ve been colder,” he says, like that’s a reasonable defense. The water must have flooded his brain.

“Lin!” you call out. She scrambles into view, phone in hand and one earbud dangling precariously. “Do we have any spare towels?”

“Yeah,” she says and drapes the cord over her shoulder. “Do you want me to bring them to you?”

“No, just go get them out,” you say and motion for James to follow.

This time he does so without protest, though when you have your resident drowned rat sitting down in the bright lights of the kitchen, he stares sullenly at the watery trail. “I’m going to have to mop _all_ of that.”

You roll your eyes and Lin snorts as she hands him the first towel in a pile. “I’ll give you a good enough breakfast to make up for it,” you say and glance over at the backpack he’s started carrying around. “Do you have a spare set of clothes?”

“Shirts,” he says and uses a new towel to squeeze some excess from his sleeve. The fabric wrinkles and sits awkwardly on his arm.

“Hopefully they didn’t get too soaked,” you say as an idea slowly worms into your head. It’s not a great idea, on first glance; in fact it’s probably terrible, but…you already trust him with your shop, your employees. That’s so much more than this.

Lin waves her hand in your face. “Ground control to Major Tom.”

You flinch back from how close she is. She starts to apologize but you say, “I’ll go start the coffee. Lin, give him something really good.”

“Everything Lin makes is really good,” James says.

“A man with excellent taste!” Lin says, chest puffing out with pride and she goes to check on whatever she has in the oven.

“Suck up,” you say.

James gives you a sly smile and a wink.

He’s damp but he has a hot drink and a _pile_ of food in front of him. You don’t know what he said to Lin after you left, but apparently she melted like butter on a hot muffin. He eats, seemingly unconcerned with anything else, and you– well, you literally mind your business. The rain slows down over time but the morning is fairly quiet. Even the first rush is less than usual, which gives you plenty of time and reason to send a quick text.

James is still nursing his drink when Melissa stumbles in, fumbling with her umbrella and right on time. As far as you’re concerned, at least– James lifts his head to look at the clock and he frowns at what he sees.

“Thank you,” you tell her as she passes by.

“No problem-o; just give me a minu–” She stops and faces James. “Oh geeze, James, you really got caught in it, didn’t you?”

“It’s just rain,” he says like a sulking child and hunches over his cup.

Melissa rolls her eyes. “Yes, yes, you big manly man you,” she says and gives him a very dainty pat on the shoulder, earning herself quite a dirty look.

While she goes to set her things down, you square up your courage and approach him. He stares at you, waiting, but you’re not sure how to do this. In the end you blurt out: “Do you trust me?”

He gives it some thought. “Mostly,” he decides.

For a man as stand-offish as him, it feels like a stamp of validation. “Then come with me. Melissa’s going to watch the shop and I’ll take you to where you can dry your clothes and have a hot shower.”

He blinks. A few times. Then his forehead creases. “Are you…sure?”

You nod. When all is said and done and Melissa is handling the counter and you have your things ready to go, you hand James the umbrella. He gives you a weird look so you say, “You’re taller.”

“I’m already wet.” He tries to hand it back by pushing it at you. “ _You’ll_ get wet just by being near me.”

“I don’t know what you and Lin have been talking about, but I don’t actually melt when I come into contact with water,” you say. “Besides that, you’re not dripping anymore, which means if we keep you from getting wetter it’ll mean less water on my floor, and my jacket can handle…” you gesture at him, “–this. Now take the damn umbrella.”

He takes the damn umbrella and the two of you make the trek down the street to your apartment. It’s a little awkward; James is stiff and you’re trying so hard to ignore it, but the rain is coming down enough that you need to pack in together. Thankfully, you make it to your place relatively quickly.

When you step inside, James does a double-take that you’ve become accustomed to. “Yeah, I know,” you say and shrug off your jacket. Fresh starts don’t come without a cost.

“When did you move in?” he asks and looks around. Not that there’s much to look at in this room besides a couch and a coffee table. And your kitchen, with mostly bare counters, aside from the obligatory coffee maker, which…actually you can’t remember the last time you used it. Whenever you want a cup you just go to the shop to get one, or you’re already there. Most often the latter.

“A year or so ago,” you say, even though it’s been more now. “But I got really busy opening the shop and ever since then I spend more time there than here.” You clear your throat and go to open the laundry closet to gesture at the stackers. “Ta da. Washing, drying; soap is on the shelf here. And the bathroom is right down the hall.”

He inclines his head. “Thank you. But…”

You wait. “But?”

“Why are you letting me in your home?”

It’s a good question. Thankfully there’s an easy answer. “I let you in my home every morning,” you say. “At five am. I let you around the biggest investment I ever made, around people that I need to look out for. This?” You wave dismissively at the space. “I sleep here, do laundry, and take showers. You can too, if you like. Just let me know.”

He’s silent and completely blank for several seconds that feel like minutes. Then he takes a shaky breath.

“Thank you.”

He comes in every morning with Lin now. You’re not sure what he does while she bakes, but she gushes about what a good listener he is, and he seems content to join you in the front when you get in. In the first few weeks you have to prod him about whether he would like a shower and a nap, and he always shifts nervously at first before inevitably acquiescing. When you get comfortable enough to just hand him your keys, he soon gets comfortable enough to start asking you, and eventually all he has to do is walk up to you and hold out his hand for you to drop your keys into his waiting palm.

One night though he comes around while you’re home. The soft knocking gets you up and checking the peephole to see the surprise visitor. James looks wet and miserable– odd, since the sky is clear– and as soon as you open the door you’re met with a stench that makes you gag. “Oh my–” You cover your mouth and nose with your hands. “James, did you fall in a sewer?!”

“Something like that,” he mutters, head down. “I’m sorry, but can I–”

“ _Please_.” You move aside so he can get through and you eye the muddy (please god let that be mud) footprints he leaves in his wake.

“I brought my own soap,” he says.

“Do you want bleach too?”

“Very funny.”

As soon as he’s in the bathroom you break out a mop and cleaner (you weren't completely joking about the bleach) and go to town until _that_ smell is covered by chemicals. For good measure, you wipe down the front of the door and prepare a fresh bucket for whatever your bathroom looks like.

When James comes out he’s wearing fresh sweatpants, no shirt, and has a towel draped over his left shoulder and arm. You can’t see much of that half, but you can see some pretty thorough scarring peeking out over his (nice, really, really nice) chest. “Do you think a backpack can go in a washing machine?”

“I think it’ll be fine,” you say. You watch as he places a hand over the spiderweb scars and he shrinks back. “Um. I have a robe you can use if you want.”

“Really?” he asks. When you nod he looks relieved. “Thanks. Do you have a mop?”

“All ready to go.” You gesture at it. “I changed the water and everything.”

His forehead crinkles. “You– oh.” He looks at the floor and frowns. “You should have let me do that.”

“I’ll let you do the bathroom,” you say. He doesn’t look appeased so you use the mop handle to shove the bucket across the floor to him. “Get your laundry going and mop the bathroom; then you can have the robe.” You just weren't sure he’d want to keep it once he saw it.

“Do you have bunny slippers to complete the look?” James asks dryly as he comes back out of the bathroom tying the sash. He’s wearing one black glove, you can’t help but notice, but he looks a lot more relaxed. Also, the black is accentuated nicely by the bright pink. “Also, why the hell is this thing so _big_?”

“David bought it for me as a gag gift one year and that was the only size they had, or so he said.” You put your book down. “Joke’s on him– it’s really comfortable.”

“It is.” He rubs the sleeve between two fingers of his ungloved right hand. “Soft. Who’s David?”

“He works afternoons.”

“Ah.” James then stands there awkwardly. Probably because the couch is all he takes when he’s here.

You get up. “Hey, are you hungry?”

“Sort of,” he says hesitantly. “But I can get my own food.”

“That’s fine. However, if you want to help me out…” You dig in your freezer and pull out a few boxes to show him. “Melissa recommended this brand to me and I bought a bunch of dinners when it was on sale, but it’s just not doing it for me. If you want them, they’re yours.”

James looks at you like he’s trying to see if you’re hiding something. Then he says, “Okay. Thanks.”

“Re-thinking how much you trust me?” you ask jokingly and put the food back.

He smirks and lounges on the couch, making that fluffy, ruffle-y robe look real good. Comfort suits him, you think. “How do I know you’re not a serial killer?”

“You’ve seen how much time I spend at the shop,” you say. “I barely have five minutes to stab someone, let alone get rid of a body.”

“Right.” He pauses. “Too bad– this place really looks like it’s just for chopping up bodies.”

You stumble on your way to the linen closet. “ _Hey_.”

James laughs.

That’s how James comes to live with you. Unofficially, and not all the time, but often enough that you get him a spare key. He then starts contributing in…strange, but not unwelcome ways.

“Here,” he says and opens his arm over the masterpieces on the counter.

“Oh my god, you made _cupcakes_?” You immediately dig in. They’re _so good_ and you haven’t eaten since morning.

“Yeah,” James says, a pleased smile forming on his face. “Don’t worry; I bought my own supplies.”

Like you’d care if he raided your bare pantry. You swallow. “Yeah, no, I’m pretty sure _I_ don’t have a box mix.”

The way he crinkles his nose is familiar– you see it anytime you discuss anything even remotely food-prep related with your baker. “It’s not from a mix.”

The look on your face must speak for you. “I _can_ cook.” He rolls his shoulders and looks away. “And Lin’s been giving me pointers on baking.”

You think you might be willing to spend more time in your apartment if James is going to be here.

James has something to tell you.

Unfortunately you’re afraid if you let him come out with it on his own, you’ll be old and gray and he’ll have formed into a literal ball of tension. So you’re going to ask him about it. You _want_ to, at least, but you wonder if his secret is that he’s psychic because as soon as you decide this he becomes _impossible_ to get one-on-one.

As soon as you have a minute to sit down, he’s gone. When he comes in, he stays with Lin. When you try to get him at the door he escapes out the back, despite you getting Melissa to run interference.

The final straw comes when you go to bed without seeing him and wake up much the same– but you do see the neatly folded blanket on the couch that tells you he _was_ here.

You sigh and take a moment to write a quick note.

_‘James, I won’t ask you about whatever it is you don’t want to talk about. You don’t have to sneak around. I’ll leave you alone.’_

You sign your name and leave the note on the blanket.

When you get to work you’re unsurprised to see James isn’t there. Lin, however, slumps with disappointment when you come through alone. “Is he not coming today?”

“I don’t know,” you say and toss your keys on the desk.

“Did…did you guys have a fight?” she asks warily.

“Not that I know of,” you say. You make sure your jacket is firmly on the hook and start for the front. “I’m going to put the music on early; is that okay with you?”

“Oh boy,” she mutters under her breath just before you leave her radius.

But she doesn’t bother you for the rest of the morning, and apparently she also gets the word out, because even Melissa and your new employee Devika leave you alone. That, or they can feel the annoyance seeping from you. It’s not the way you’d like to be, so you try to keep to the back as much as possible.

It’s stupid. It feels stupid. James’s issues are his own and you don’t need to feel so upset over it, but the feeling creeps over you throughout the day and tendrils around and around until you finally realize just what is making you feel so strongly, and it’s not that James is avoiding you for reasons unknown. It’s that you know the signs, and the first person you’ve felt almost completely safe with in a long, long time is going to leave soon.

Fuck.

“Hey. I need to tell you something.”

You blink your eyes open to nearly utter darkness and James, barely lit by light from outside. You squint at him. “James? What time is it?”

“2:24,” he says.

You struggle to sit but you wake up. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. We gotta talk,” he says and sits on the edge of the bed.

“You couldn’t wait an hour for me to wake up?” you ask and really squint when he turns on the bedside lamp.

“I’ve been chickening out of this for long enough.” You smell the coffee before he hands it to you. “Here.”

You take a sip. Not bad. “I didn’t know I had any coffee in the house.”

James snorts. “You didn’t. You’ve never even used that coffee maker.”

“I think I have.” You try to remember. “Once?”

“The manual was still inside.”

“Oh.” You take a few more sips, but the more you stall the more James looks like he’s about to bolt. Eventually you sigh and put– well, accidentally slam– the cup down. “James, if you want to leave, you can. You don’t owe me anything.”

“I know. I don’t want–” His eyes bug out and he has to center himself. The way he then looks at you is…flat. Resolute. “You're going to want me to leave. And that’s okay. I’m…I’m thankful. You’ve been good to me, even though I’ve done nothing to deserve it. Done everything to _not_ deserve it, actually.”

“Are you the serial killer out of the two of us?” you joke.

“Does assassin count?”

You can’t laugh, because he’s not joking. He’s really not joking when he tells you about it. About how he fell to nearly certain death but was…not saved but retrieved; and how he was tortured and _brainwashed_ and then ordered to do terrible things as ‘The Winter Soldier’–

“Hey,” you say, a strange memory tugging at your brain. “Isn’t ‘the Winter Soldier’ the guy who tried to kill–”

James holds out a book and opens it. You recognize it as an old textbook, but what’s inside is more important. It’s his face, taking up nearly an entire page, and the caption just above his thumb reads “Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes–”

“What the _hell_.” You’re really glad you put the coffee down but there’s only so much you can take in at– you look– three in the morning. But if James is telling a tale he’s really selling it. Especially when his left hand catches your eye and you realize it looks like metal. You grip it and it _is_ metal, but he lets you pull and poke at it and then he curls his fingers around your hand and holy shit.

You let go and pinch the bridge of your nose. Too. Early. “James, are you all right? Is someone coming to hurt you? Do you need to go into hiding? Will you come back?”

He blinks. “You– I–” He frowns. “I just told you what a monster I am and you’re _worried_ that I won’t come back?”

“Yes,” you blurt out, awash in relief that he doesn’t _want_ to leave, it’s just that he might have to. Somehow, that does make it better. And worse. “Do you need me to buy you a plane ticket?”

“Jesus Christ.” He rubs his face. “You’re unreal.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you say. “And I’m not the one who decided to make the confession of a lifetime by rousing someone out of bed at two in the morning.”

He’s quiet. So are you. Honestly, part of you is wondering how easily you’re believing this, but– that’s James’s _face_ , and that arm is– and Captain America had that press conference to vouch for the Winter Soldier’s innocence, and is this any weirder than aliens and global conspiracies?

“It’s a lot,” he says. “I’ll give you a few days to think about it.” He gets up and, before you can say a word, slips out of the window. The last you see of him is his hand, glinting in the light.

You’re sitting at James’s table and staring at his face in the book when you hear a gasp from behind you. You jump out of your skin and turn in your chair to see Lin gawking at the photo. “I _thought_ he looked like– but– oh my god, what if he got the serum too?!”

Right. Captain America fan number one; how could you forget. You rub your temples. “Before you get too deep into the conspiracy rabbit hole, sit down and let me explain.”

She plops down and stares at you attentively. You can only hope she doesn’t have anything in the oven. Regardless, you do your best to recount what James told you, and include some of his stories. Lin reacts mostly how you expect her to.

“Poor James,” she says and holds her heart. “When Captain America came back there were a _lot_ of conspiracy theories about how the same might have happened to him; the camp he was held in did a lot of–” She cringes. “But it…makes sense that they might have got some of it right.”

“Mm hm.” Sense. Right.

“Is he in trouble? Do we… will we have to _fight_ Captain America?”

You open your mouth to reassure her, only to realize that she doesn’t seem to need reassurance at all. “You…sound a little _too_ excited at the idea.”

“Oh, he would destroy us,” Lin says, still too excited in your opinion. “But it would give James time to escape and–” she sighs with longing, “–what a way to go.”

You hope James comes back soon. In the meantime, you’re going to look up some good therapists. It sounds like everybody here needs one.

James is standing outside the shop, slightly bent but not completely hunched. It’s not raining, but it is foggy out. He watches you approach, like he’s just waiting for the moment you’ll tell him to beat it.

“You have good timing.” You unlock and hold open the door. “Lin said she’s going to be experimenting today.”

He hesitates but then stands up straight and walks in ahead of you.

He doesn’t talk about leaving again.

James is fiddling at the sink when you finally get rid of a _very_ friendly customer. You toss the paper they left without giving it a glance and since it’s a quiet period, you start working on making notes for ordering. You can feel James staring at you and you think you know why, so you ignore him.

“He was nice.”

Bingo.

“He was,” you agree, not lifting your head from your notebook.

“He was flirting with you.”

“I noticed,” you say, but James’s tone is flat enough to draw your attention. He’s as focused on the cup he’s drying as you were with the page you were writing on.

“Then why don’t you…” The silence stretches on and that dish is getting to be _very_ dry. “Respond?”

You sigh. “Did the girls put you up to this?”

“No. I just…” The ceramic cracks in his hands and he flinches.

“It’s all right; it’s just a cup,” you say and scan for blood. Nothing, thank goodness.

“You didn’t even let me say anything,” he grumbles and pulls his hands open to stare at the big broken pieces.

“Either I’m psychic or you’re predictable.” You point at the door to the back. “The big trash can just inside has a better bag.”

“Okay.” He dumps the shards inside the remainder of the cup for the time being. “But you…you’re _good_.”

He’s trying to express something and you’re not sure what. “I’m a lot of things,” you tell him.

“You’re a good person,” he insists. He finally looks at you, eyes narrowed even though he says, “You deserve something like that.”

That’s a loaded sentence, but you know what he means. “I’m a lot of things,” you repeat. “And…there’s no such thing as deserving. At least, I hope not.”

“You and me both,” he mutters and you snort.

“If I deserve anything, then I hope I deserve to go after what I want.” You’re tempted to move closer. You lean on the counter to stop yourself. “I’ve had people who thought they ‘deserved’ me. Or parts of me. But it doesn’t work like that. Nobody really gets what they deserve, I don’t think. But sometimes that’s a good thing.”

“Are you sure about that?” James’s voice is strained like he’s on a wire.

“Emphatically _yes_.”

There’s silence, and staring, and not much else for several seconds. Maybe even minutes. James, eventually, awkwardly, slinks to the back, cup in hand and an unintelligible excuse leaving his lips. You get back to work and are unsurprised when you go back to shut off the lights and find that you’re utterly alone.

You are surprised when you get home and he’s there. He gets up off the couch and comes up to you before you can hang your coat.

“What if I want the wrong thing?”

You try to mentally catch up to where he is. Failing that, you ask, “Who says it’s wrong?”

“Me.”

“Then is it really wrong?”

He moves even closer– so much closer; breath-hitting-skin closer. “I want…to believe that people get what they deserve.”

He looms over you, eyes wide, almost wild, and yet you have never feared anyone less. You swallow that overwhelming thought, because you know exactly what he means. If only he was talking about Hydra. “Say and think what you want but I’ll never believe you deserve what you think you do. You deserve soft blankets, and cups of good coffee, and pastries.”

His nostrils flare and his lips press together tightly. He has to compose himself. “I’ll never be tame.”

“You’ll never be _soft_ ,” you correct. “Not completely. But that doesn’t mean you can’t have those things. If you want them.”

His throat pulses like he’s swallowing a rock. “I want a lot.”

“Then _ask_.”

He never does– not directly, anyway. He tilts his head when you’re dealing with an irate customer and stands down at your signal. He asks if you need anything from the sandwich shop. He leaves for a few days and comes back with flowers, and stares at you to see if you like them. He puts his hand on your shoulder, light and ready to leave, until you lean into his touch.

The day he first bends down to kiss you, he stops just before he reaches your lips, until you let out a breathless “uh huh,” and then he doesn’t leave for a long time.

It’s not perfect. You get snappish; he broods and disappears. But at the end of the day you apologize or he comes back and the two of you twine together at night.

It’s not perfect, but you’d be hard-pressed to think of anything better.

There’s a man standing outside your shop.

He’s tall and incredibly well built, but hunched over himself like he holds the world on his shoulders. When he sees you coming, though, he stands up straight and smiles like ‘tired’ doesn’t exist. It’s almost impressive, how quickly he flips that switch.

“Good morning,” you greet the stranger as you start to unlock the door.

“Morning,” he replies, like it’s mid-morning instead of a barely broken dawn still in the midst of shaking off the dark. “What time do you open?”

“Not for another hour I’m afraid,” you say and glance in.

“That’s all right,” he’s quick to reassure you. “I can wait.”

“I’ll see if I can’t move a little quicker,” you say.

He shakes his head. “It’s fine; there’s no rush.”

“All right.” You step inside and hold the door just a crack. “But if I come back to open up and find out you’ve been lured away by the siren call of Starbucks then I’m going to be very upset.”

You shut the door on Captain America’s laughter.

You go through the door to the back to put your things down. James and Lin are at work frosting something. You hesitate and wonder if you should ask him aside when he, still concentrated on his piping, says, “I know.”

“What do you want me to do?” you ask. Lin is so focused she’s not being nosy, so it’s technically just the two of you right now.

“If he asks…” James stops and sits back. He sighs. “Never mind; I’ll talk to him. Just…do what you normally do.”

You kiss his cheek. “I’ll run interference if you need it.”

“What’s going on?” Lin asks, blinking as she’s broken out of the zone by the realization she’s lost her assistant.

“The love of your life, ‘Captain of your heart,’ is here,” you say, watching James’s face. He snorts, but his flat expression doesn’t change at all.

Lin gasps and drops her piping bag right onto the cookie she was working on. Well, there’s your breakfast, at least. “How’s my hair? Do I have–” Lin catches sight of James and does a 180. She slumps. “Wait, do we _actually_ have to fight Captain America now? I’m not ready for this…”

James does lighten up when he looks at her. “Why do you think you have to fight him?”

“To give you a head start,” Lin says. “By the way, if you ever need a different place to lay low, I have a trench coat, a wide variety of wigs, and a go-bag stashed in my hall closet.”

She goes back to frosting like she hadn’t just made you (and James) stare agog. You and James then share a look. He opens his mouth to speak.

“If you’re _not_ going to run, though, you need to get back to work.”

You smile when James rolls his eyes. “You heard the boss,” you say and squeeze his shoulder on the way out, only letting go when your feet take you too far.

The morning progresses…normally, if not easily. Captain America is your first customer of the day and he is entirely pleasant. He boasts that he didn’t even _think_ about going to Starbucks and you give him a free croissant for a reward. However even if you somehow didn’t know why he was here before, it becomes painfully apparent when he sits down and goes on watch more pointed than a cartoon hunting dog.

The clock ticks and you go about your day, tending to customers as they come and go. It’s after Lin has left when James finally puts the poor guy out of his misery– by coming in the front door and plopping down right across from him. You get to be witness to Captain America almost being taken out by a heart attack. You and one other customer, but she looks more interested in her coffee than anything around her.

Or so you think. You can’t hear the conversation James is having with his old friend but that doesn’t stop you from checking in. Frequently. However at one point you happen to notice your other customer staring intently at them– and then she makes direct eye contact with you.

Shit. She stands, paper cup in hand, and saunters towards you. You wait, but just as soon as she gets to the counter, James slides between you and it.

Even with him blocking her there, you can feel the tension ratchet. When you peer around him, it’s mostly what you expect– Captain America is out of his seat and crouching like he expects to fight. The woman, however, simply looks up at James with a single raised brow.

“I just wanted a refill.” She raises her cup.

James doesn’t move. “Bucky?” Captain America says warily, edging closer. Nobody backs down.

You poke James in the back but he still doesn’t budge, so you sigh and reach over his shoulder to hold your hand out. The cup is placed in your palm and you take it over to the coffee machine. When you bring it back, though, you notice a problem. “James, I cannot get this over you. Scoot three inches to the left, please.”

He moves so infinitesimally you’d be willing to bet he somehow followed your directions down to the centimeter. However it’s enough space for you to give the woman her drink.

“‘James?’” comes from startlingly close to you and you turn to find Captain America encroaching on your space. Instinct kicks in at that point, so hard that when James tries to move you hold him aside with one arm.

“Sir,” you say, maybe a little sharp but you _hate_ having too many people behind the counter, especially when they don’t belong there. “Are you one of my employees?”

“Um…no?” the captain says uncertainly.

“Then you need to step back from behind the counter.” You narrow your eyes at him when he doesn’t move. “ _Now_.”

He backs up a step, bewildered. “Yeah Steve,” the woman says. “Employees only.”

You don’t look at her, but ‘Steve’ does, and he then follows an invisible line to the aprons you have hanging in the front. James has one, of course, though he never wears it, and that must be what the captain sees. “O-…oh.”

“Do either of you need anything else?” you ask. Politely.

“No,” the woman says. “In fact, I think we’ll be leaving for the day. Steve?”

Captain America looks set to argue, but he looks at James and…softens. Almost unnervingly. You don’t know why it puts you on edge, but you stay so even when the captain swallows anxiously. “Can we…come back tomorrow?”

James nods but remains a wall of tension. As soon as they're out the door you tug at James’s shirt until he turns and you can wrap your arms around him, and he can do the same to you.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles into your shoulder. “But I–…it’s…a lot.”

“It’s okay,” you say. You’re going to say more, but over James’s shoulder you see Captain America looking in the window, and the expression on his face punches you in the gut. ‘Heartbroken’ doesn’t begin to cover it.

Even after James slinks away to the back and Melissa comes in just in time to help with the rush, you can’t stop thinking about it.

You get a clearer picture the next day, when Captain Rogers comes alone and he and James have a conversation filled with more awkward pauses than actual words. However when James stands up and turns to leave, the captain looks at him with unrestrained longing, and James’s face is an absolute mess of tangled emotion.

Well.

You don’t freak out or panic, though. James has never made you feel anything less than loved and wanted and even with Captain Rogers apparently taking an extended vacation in your town, you don’t feel threatened.

James’s nightmares get a little worse, though, and you both weather it the best you can. Even one night when he cries out, “ _STEVE!_ ” and shoots up in bed. You hold him until he stops shaking, and neither of you mention it after the fact.

It takes you a week before you find the courage to bring up the issue. You corner James in the back while he’s waiting for the muffins to come out. “We need to talk. About Ca– about Steve.”

“ _Now_?” James glances at Lin but she’s wearing headphones. He looks at the oven and sighs heavily. “Okay.”

It’s not like this is comfortable for you either, but you’d rather have it done and over with. “So you two were…”

“Yes.”

“Do you not…”

James looks at you and frowns. “It’s…complicated.”

Obviously– however. “How so?”

He slips his hand in yours and grips. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“Then don’t,” you say. He stares at you blankly, so you squeeze his hand. “I’m not going anywhere, and I know you aren’t either. If you want him, tell him. Maybe he’ll be okay with it too.” He inhales sharply and you kiss his hand. “I know what you think but _I_ believe you deserve good things, like love. More than that, I believe you deserve to go after what you want.”

He shakes his head, but squeezes your hand in return. “You always say that. One day you’re going to tell me ‘no.’”

“Only when it comes to special desserts Lin makes for _me_ , cake thief.” You back off. “Now get your boyfriend to stop looking at us with the sad puppy eyes; my heart can’t take much more Sarah McLachlan bait.”

You don’t see the conversation but you know when it happens. Mostly because, yes, the sad eyes do stop. Instead, they become lovelorn towards your shared partner, and grateful towards you. And Capta– _Steve_ – starts showing up in…other…places.

Like your couch, where he sits like he’s always been there. When he sees you staring though he scrambles up. “Hi, uh…Bucky’s in the shower.”

“Okay.” You set your things down. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No thank you,” he says politely but stands awkwardly. “How long have you and Bucky lived together?”

“I don’t know exactly,” you say and get yourself something. “I started off offering my place for him to shower and nap and he just started sticking around.”

“This is your apartment?” Steve looks surprised as he scans the place. “It’s very…”

“Sparse?” you suggest dryly.

“Minimalist,” he says politely.

James snorts as he comes out of the bathroom drying his hair and wearing only his favorite sweatpants. “I told ya– _serial killer_.”

“I bought something!” you say and gesture at the little decorative setup on the counter with the cute pig statue and vase of fake flowers. _Both_ James and Steve look at each other like they’re incredibly unimpressed. “You two deserve each other,” you say and fold your arms.

Steve’s eyes soften as he looks to James and they don’t lose much of that fondness when he looks at you. “Thank you,” he says earnestly. “For being okay with this.”

“I’m okay as long as you are,” you say. “I’m not sure how much you know about poly relationships…”

“A little,” Steve says before you can go on. “We’re a ‘V’, right?”

You stare at Steve. You look at James, but he’s also staring at Steve. So you go back to staring at Steve.

Steve fidgets. “I’ve been reading.”

“You’ve been _reading_?” you repeat. Not that you’re an _expert_ , but you feel like the guy born in the 1910s now knows more than you.

Steve flushes red. James rolls his eyes, drapes the towel behind his neck, and goes to sling his arm across Steve’s shoulders. “Yeah, he’s a fucking nerd. He took a suitcase of _books_ to basic.”

Steve’s face whips to the side. “How do _you_ know that?!”

“Read it in a book,” James quips and kisses him.

And so it starts. Sleeping arrangements are awkward at first and take some time to get right. Steve apparently has a place to stay but after the first several days of you two trading James back and forth like reasonable divorced parents, they give up the ghost and just stay with you. Apparently Steve’s place is on a level less than your ‘serial killer hovel.’

“I never called it a hovel,” James says. He then _steals_ your laptop from right under your fingers and slides a plate in its place. “No work at the dinner table,” he says and walks away.

“At least save it!” you tell him, maybe snapping, but it took you almost an hour to make that damn spreadsheet do what you wanted. Steve is smiling though so you direct your fading ire at him. “Your boyfriend is annoying.”

“Your boyfriend can be _very_ annoying,” he says and smiles wickedly. “Just wait until you get sick.”

Sleeping doesn’t get much less awkward yet. Steve tries to bypass the issue by taking the couch, but after a couple of days it seems cruel that he can’t ever lie with James, and that he’s all scrunched up.

“I can’t take your bed,” he says.

“Maybe we can share?” you suggest and look at James for the okay. “It’s a really big bed. And has a pretty, _not_ -serial-killer comforter.”

James rolls his eyes so hard he hurts himself.

The first run of this plan hits a snag, though, when all three of you very suddenly discover that James _does not like_ being boxed in in _any_ way. It takes so long to calm him down and coax him back to bed that you pass out on the other side of Steve while he comforts James.

The next night you and Steve awkwardly (because that’s the name of the game now, apparently) work out a system where James is always at his preferred side while the two of you trade who takes the center.

This falls apart, again, because Steve also does not like being in the center at all. Not that he _tells_ you this, no; you just go to sleep on Steve’s other side and wake up ensconced by him and James. It freaks you out at first, but Steve has left room between the two of you and James’s arm is wrapped around your middle.

You keep up the farce for a little while, until you decide you’d rather save Steve the effort and you the daily morning heart attack, and you just never switch again. After that, it actually becomes easier to get comfortable. James still spends time with you and Steve separately, but you all go to bed together. It’s weird, but it works.

Steve stays while his friends cover for him back home, but there’s not much for a supersoldier to do, so he hangs around.

Mostly with you. “Since we’re both dating the same person, we should probably be friends,” Steve says and you can’t fault that logic. So as James keeps more to the back with Lin, Steve starts to take his place in the front. He sets up the tables, learns to make coffee, and keeps you company during the slow periods. Going to bed together becomes easier; you stop shrinking away from him, and one day you wake up with his arm across you and James and you don’t panic.

Naturally, that’s the day Natasha Romanoff and Sam Wilson show up to take Steve away for some reason or another. They use your back office to discuss it and the end result is that Steve hugs you goodbye. Then he hugs and kisses James goodbye.

“He’s in good hands,” James says even as he tries to curl up within you that night. “And I…I don’t fight anymore.”

“He’ll be fine,” you say, even as you curl around him and try to ignore how cold your back is.

Two days pass like an eternity, but on the third night you come home to find James snuggled up on the couch with Steve, who looks like he never left.

“Hi,” he says, smiling at you warmly. “Everything went well.”

“Good. That’s…good,” you say, arms itching to wrap around him and check for yourself. You hold back, though, and let your heart settle.

James still has bad days, even with Steve and you both. Maybe because of it.

One such day (night? Morning? You’re not sure anymore) he’s sitting on the floor in front of the couch, where you sit and dry his hair with hands you have to force yourself to keep steady. Rain beats against the windows and Steve sits next to you now, warm and present, but Bucky still feels like a live wire under your hands and you’re terrified he’ll run back out into the storm again, but that this time he won’t come back when Steve asks.

“You don’t have to fix me.”

You slow, and let the towel fall over James’s head. He sounds as tired as you feel, weary to the bone. You drape yourself over his back.

“No one is trying to fix you,” Steve says and wraps his arms around both of you.

“If you say it’s because I’m not broken I might deck you,” James mutters.

“I was going to say it’s because no one’s qualified,” Steve replies smartly.

There’s a moment when James is so silent you’re afraid he’s taken it to heart, but he turns his head to scowl at Steve. “Asshole,” he says and Steve grins.

You roll your eyes. “Yes. You both are,” you say, and when Steve and Bucky exchange a look you consider making them sleep on the couch. So maybe you are kind of an asshole too. But Steve is right in one way– no one in the world is qualified to deal with either of them. But you’re going to do your best regardless, because they do no less for you.

“Are you all right?!”

The answer is a resounding _no_ , but you’re shaking too hard to respond. The car that almost hit you is gone but Steve is almost frantic, holding you tight enough that it’s almost too tight, and too many people are standing around, probably drawn by the sound of squealing tires and accompanying sight of near-bloodshed.

“Let’s– go,” you stammer, gripping Steve’s arms. He’s gone under the radar so far and you don’t want to be the reason the veil lifts.

“Okay,” he says and helps you up. “We’re almost home.” His arms linger around you. “Do you want me to…”

“Just let me lean on you,” you say, and he does. He holds you close while you make your way home, and he doesn’t let go even while James frets. He doesn’t let go for a long while.

It’s a peaceful night. You’re all on the bed, watching TV, and James and Steve both lie on either side of you with their heads butting together in your lap while you play with their hair. James gets up at one point to make some popcorn, and everything is normal. Until you look down and see Steve, completely relaxed with your fingers in his hair, and you can’t look away. His eyes flick to you and then stay as his head tilts curiously.

“Hey,” you say, smiling slowly. “When did I get _another_ boyfriend?”

Steve’s eyes widen marginally, but his smile can only be described as ‘comfortable,’ and James chuckles as he settles in next to you.

“Don’t worry– he grows on ya,” James says and kisses your temple.

“Yeah,” you say, sweeping your curved hand down the side of Steve’s face. His eyes flutter shut in response. “He really does.”

Captain America’s retirement and succession come as a shock and Steve stays away while the world reels, but Sam Wilson soon becomes the country’s most controversial sweetheart and Steve, already fading into the background, comes home. And life goes on. For everyone.

“What am I going to _do_?!” you wail, safe in the company of only Steve and James. Lin’s acceptance into Le Cordon Bleu had been an absolutely delightful announcement that culminated with you taking every employee out for a celebratory dinner, and you’re ecstatic for her, truly. It’s just…

“Maybe Ed will want to go full time?” Steve suggests gently, referring to the temp you have on hand so that Lin can take a day off every now and then.

“He can’t work full time.” You hold your face in your hands. You have time, plenty of time, but Lin is so good in _every_ way that trying to replace her is going to be impossible.

“I have an idea.”

You sit up and Steve sits back. James sits there, lips slightly pursed and head bowed even though his eyes glance up and down. You give him the time he needs, until he finally says, “I could do it.”

“Really?” you blurt out.

He nods. “Lin’s taught me a lot; I know how to make just about everything you sell, and you couldn’t even tell which one was mine the last time Lin had you test.”

“I wasn’t– I meant– I know you _can_ do it,” you say. “But…you want to?”

He frowns hard for a moment, and then relaxes completely. “Yes. I want to do this. If– if you’ll let me.”

“Okay,” you say, some of the panic leaving you. “Okay.”

It’s early but not too early. You’re still in bed, savoring the feel of a day off. Bucky has left the bed, probably to get some coffee, but Steve is still draped over you, deeply asleep. The sun creeps through the window, crawling over the desk on the far end of the room, over Steve’s logo designs, and up the bright blue wall you all just painted a few weeks ago. You admire the color, squint at a streak you missed, and then stare at the desk top. You’re tempted to go steal a look at the papers, but you’re honestly too comfortable.

Steve squeezes your midsection and places a sleepy kiss to your shoulder. “No peeking,” he mumbles and moves up closer.

His hair tickles your neck and you squirm. “How did you know?”

“You haven’t been subtle about it.” He yawns. “Where’s Bucky?”

“I don’t know. Abandoned us for coffee probably.”

“How rude.”

“I know, right?” You pat the empty space. “You get to cuddle me but who am I supposed to cuddle?”

“You could cuddle me,” Steve says.

You wiggle, but his grip doesn’t allow for much. “I’d have to turn around.”

“Oh. Moving is out.” He shoves his face into your shoulder. He mumbles something else but drifts back off to sleep and you’re about to follow him when you see something odd on the side table that you haven’t noticed before now. Along with the lotion and books and odd knick-knacks that have accumulated over time, there’s a cup. A coffee cup, mostly white but for lines of jagged silver, and there’s a tiny flower peeking over the lip. You’re not sure if it’s real or not, but it’s pretty.

James sets his coffee cup next to it and you're struck by how similar the two mugs are. “Is that cup from the shop?” you ask, staring at the one with the plant.

“Yup.” James runs a hand up and down your arm. “I broke it, but…it’s still good. Just needed something else to do.”

“Oh.” He gets back into bed, somehow sliding under you without disturbing Steve, and just before you doze off again you ask, “Why silver?”

“Gold’s too bright, and I like it fine,” he says and wiggles his metallic fingers. He kisses your head. “Go back to sleep.”

“M’kay,” you say, and you do.

It’s not perfect.

It’s better.


End file.
